


For Whose Sake

by windsofsilesse



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Introspection, takes place vaguely after ares gets the letter from nanna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsofsilesse/pseuds/windsofsilesse
Summary: Ares considers what he's fighting for.Written for the Successor to the Demon Sword Zine.
Relationships: Aless | Ares & Celice | Seliph
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	For Whose Sake

Seliph could be scary, but not in the way that Ares could be scary. 

Ares’s strength, the Mystletainn at his side, and the quick way he lunged like a viper in battle were scary. And, sure, Seliph was strong, but it was not pure strength and muscle that made him intimidating in the moment. The uncanny ability of Seliph to sense other’s needs, the way his gaze cut through Ares’s skin and saw through to his soul and seemed to know everything on his mind, was scary.

He was doing so now, as they sat out by the edge of their encampment. Most others were asleep by this point; they seemed to be the only ones outside at this point. He could feel his sharp gaze on the back of his neck.

“What do you fight for, Seliph?” He asked— a random conversation topic, to bring them back from the silence that lingered in the air a little bit too long for Ares’s tastes.

“For the good of the people,” Seliph said. Some could construe his words to be disingenuous, to just make him look better, but Ares knew Seliph; he knew that he was genuine in his wishes. His next words were more quiet, and his face seemed to become more solemn. Ares, for one, lacked Seliph’s sensitivity to other’s feelings; he could sense the shift in demeanor, but he had no idea what was going on behind those eyes. “For vengeance against my father as well, I must admit.” 

Ares nodded; he knew the desire of vengeance well. If he thought hard enough, he could practically feel the burning indignation in his chest once more. “Don’t let it consume you,” he advised. At this, Seliph gave a sympathetic smile, a look of understanding; he knew what Ares had left unsaid. Don’t be like me.

“And what about you, Ares? What are you fighting for?”

“For the liberation of my homeland.” The answer, as if rehearsed and memorized, rolled quickly and easily off his tongue.

Seliph gazed at him from out of the corner of his eye, the rest of his head turned out towards the Thracian horizon. “And after the war?” The question was asked in the sweet way he had been speaking in before, but pierced through Ares nonetheless. Seliph stared back at his shoes, taking some of the pressure off Ares while he grasped at his mind for some kind of answer.

It was so easy for Ares to ignore what would come after, when battle and war seemed endless. Back in Javarro’s mercenary group, he shoved such thoughts aside until he found the means to exact the vengeance he sought; here, he shoved such thoughts aside until they were done with the war. Yet, he knew in the back of his mind that at some point, he would have to address it all.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. He’d been chasing a dream of revenge, a dream built on half-truths and misunderstandings, all his life; that was why he had been fighting before. Ares was lucky enough that such a chase had landed him in the Liberation Army, in a place where he had the luxury to not have to worry about it, but what now? That dream was no longer. He jolted his head up, and his gaze met Seliph’s. “I…”

“I can’t give you that answer. That’s something you need to find out for yourself.” A smile, so sweet it almost made Ares sick, spread across Seliph’s face.

“Of course. I understand.”

Seliph rose to his feet. Stifling a yawn, he said, “I think I may get to bed. Don’t stay up too late, alright?” Yet, he lingered for a few moments. “You’ll find the answer soon enough, Ares. Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. I have faith.”

The sounds of the forest replaced the silence Seliph left in his wake. The rustling of bushes as the winds whipped against them, the baying of far off dogs. Nothing was able to calm his racing mind.

Yet, the one thing that was finally able to snap him out of his thoughts was the chill of the wind. His coat was not enough to protect against the cold of Thracia, not in the middle of the night. He languidly shuffled across the dusty clearing they set up camp in and entered his tent. Ares had expected to stay up all night to ponder his question, but he drifted asleep not too long after his head hit the pillow.

He seldom had a chance to think about it the next day. The Thracians mounted an attack, and maneuvered through the forest searching for them. The sight of wyverns soaring overhead got him on his horse and crashing through the trees towards the frontlines.

The forest was so different from the somewhat peaceful night; the clanging of metal and shouting of men echoed through it. But that was all it was: different, not jarring or unpleasant, not to him. Years of battle and months of warfare accustomed him to the chaos.

“Sir Ares!” Seliph said, turning his head slightly and smiling. This part of the forest was silent; the troops were already thinning down, it seemed. “What a morning, huh?”

Ares nodded, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Seliph went ahead, half his attention on Ares beside him and half his attention on the forest itself.

There seemed to be no more enemies on the ground, from their patrol of the area. “Shall we?” He pointed back in the direction they came. The attack from the Thracian army was sudden. They’d managed to repel it, but their forces were still disconnected, dotted across the dense forest, unable to move as one.

A shadow appeared over them, before Ares could nod and start to venture back through the woods. The shadow quickly grew closer and crashed through the trees. A lance glinted in the morning sun shining between the leaves. The shining metal shot forward in a thrust, but Ares was too slow to push Seliph out of the way of the Dracoknight’s strike.

He was not impaled, and Ares thanked the gods for that. The Dracoknight came rather close, though. The lance made a large gash along the side of his chest; Ares didn’t want to look down to see the blood, didn’t want to think about the damage. Seliph’s eyes were wide as he stared from Ares to the blood seeping into his white clothing. He seemed shocked and alert, yet at the same time woozy and ready to collapse at any moment.

“Seliph, leave!” His shout was loud, the volume second only to the sound of his heart beating in his chest. It was enough to snap Seliph out of his shock; with trembling hands, the prince propelled his horse into a quick gallop. The Dracoknight was now far above the skies; it circled around them, like a vulture watching its already-deceased meal. Ares tensed, ready to throw himself into the fight. It swept down once more, at Ares this time. As powerful as the Mystletainn was, the blade could not penetrate the scale of a wyvern. However, it had no problem with damaging people.

The Dracoknight faltered, landing (or rather, crashing) on the forest floor. Nerves and adrenaline powered him on as he dealt another blow to the rider before quickly dodging the snap of the wyvern’s maw. Its rider might be incapacitated, but the wyvern was still ready to fight. 

The creature was powerful, but it lingered on the floor for a bit too long. He struck at its eyes in an attempt to harm the wyvern in some meaningful way, before continuing in the same manner as before and dodging its attacks. He was disoriented by their little back and forth; his vision blurred slightly and lightheadedness set in, perhaps further spurred on by the anxiety creeping up his chest. The shift from sleeping to wakefulness and now battle was a bit too jarring for his body to handle. But, eventually, the forest was silent once more, save for Ares’s shaky breaths.

After a few moments, he dismounted and crept forward. He nudged the wyvern with the tip of his sword, once, twice. It didn’t react, and he didn’t want to wait around to see if it did.

“Ares!” A familiar voice called into the forest. They were steadily getting closer, and so were the loud, ungraceful crunching of branches and leaves. Soon, Diarmuid crashed through the bushes, his eyes wide. He breathed a sigh of relief. “There you are.”

“Do you know if Sir Seliph is alright?” With the rushing emotions and breathlessness combined, his words ran together; he wasn’t even sure if Diarmuid understood him.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s being healed— let’s go back to camp.” Diarmuid watched Ares as he climbed back onto his horse with shaking arms; he could practically see the thoughts churning in his cousin’s mind.

He was glad that he had Diarmuid with him; otherwise, he would have been too disoriented to find his way back to everyone. The camp was buzzing with activity and chatter, as the fighters of the Liberation Army began to fully assess the situation. According to Diarmuid, most people seemed to be alright, with the only major injury being Seliph.

“You feeling okay?” Diarmuid asked, watching him from the corner of his eyes.

“Fine,” Ares muttered. He left his horse near his tent before rushing off towards Seliph’s tent.

He poked his head through the gap in the pale canvas. A few healers were surrounding him. When Ares entered, they were engaging in quiet conversation over the humming of an activated staff.

Nanna was the first to turn around and notice him. “Hello, cousin,” she said softly. Upon looking him over and noticing the blood on his clothes and the grim expression on his face, she furrowed her brows in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to see Sir Seliph.” He tried to peer over the women surrounding him, and saw only a flash of blue hair. “How is he?” Ares asked in a low voice, though Seliph would hear him anyways in the small tent.

“No need for concern,” she reported with a smile. “A bit tired, but I’m sure he’ll recover quickly.” She turned around and tugged at one of the clerics’ sleeves, and after a few whispers the two healers who had been tending to Seliph left the tent. “We were wrapping up around here, anyways. We’ll leave you two alone.”

She brushed past him and out the tent; Seliph shivered at the cold air that flooded in through the open flap.

With the clerics gone, he could size up the space. Seliph himself seemed fine; yet, his usually cutting and alert gaze had been dulled by exhaustion. The rest of the space was messy; broken staves laid on the floor among rolls of bandages and scissors.

The guilt and anxiety finally slammed into him and settled in, as if he was the one who took the blow. Knowing that he could have prevented the wound, he couldn’t bear to look at the injured man. 

“I’m sorry.” Ares owed Seliph that much, or so he felt.

“Come on, Ares,” Seliph murmured. An attempt to sit up was thwarted by the pain that shot through his side; Seliph flinched and wheezed as he let himself back down onto the cot slowly. “Neither of us could have seen it coming.”

“Yes, but it was because of luck that you got by. I should have done something more.”

Seliph paused, considering what to say. “Well, I suppose I’d consider myself very lucky, but it’s not for the reason you think.”

“And that reason is?”

“I’m lucky to have someone like you at my side.”

“Oh.” Ares internally kicked himself for his awkward response. “Uh, yeah… I’m glad to be here with you too, Sir Seliph.”

Seliph laughed softly, all traces of exhaustion and injury momentarily gone from his face; at the same time, Ares had begun to realize his answer to last night’s question.


End file.
